


Snow Day

by cosmic_medusa



Series: Two in the Snow [3]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-16 23:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20611121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_medusa/pseuds/cosmic_medusa
Summary: Three days into a blizzard, Larry and Freddy watch TV.





	Snow Day

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a 'verse: should read [One for the Money, Two in the Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20513411) first.

**CANADA, 2005**

It’s been snowing for three days straight.

This is the shit he thought he left behind in Wisconsin—he hates being stuck indoors. Not even because he’s particularly passionate about fresh air, just the feeling of _can’t_ drives him nuts.

Freddy though, who never experienced snow in his life—he loves it. Especially because it means they have nothing to do, and that means they’re going to have sex. And that’s mostly what they’ve been doing, with pauses for food, showers, and to change the sheets.

They’ve finally both reached the point where they need a break, and that means TV. The Godfather is on, cut together in order, and Larry’s nursing a scotch while Freddy lays against him, stretched on the rest of the sofa. It’s their normal ‘watching TV’ position, and one Larry likes to tease him about, since it means he gets basically the whole couch while Larry’s relegated to the corner. They both know it’s because Freddy likes being held, and Larry likes holding him, and it's the best way for them to do both. Larry won’t ever say Freddy likes cuddling for fear he’ll be going to bed alone for a long, long time, probably with a black eye, but that’s the truth of it. It’s probably one of the essential things that drew them together: Freddy wanted to be cared for. Larry wanted someone _to_ care for.

Maybe it’s fucked up, but it fuckin’ works for them.

“Y’know who you remind me of?” Freddy asks. “Robert DeNiro.”

“That good or bad?”

“It’s fuckin’ great. I was always kind of hot for him. I remember, the night I met you, thinking you looked like him. But you smiled a lot more.”

“That right?” Larry grinned and raised the hand currently draped around his partner’s belly to stroke his hair. “You were hot for me next to Joe and Eddy?”

“As much as I could be, trying to not shit myself that my cover would be blown.” Freddy slid an arm over Larry’s stomach and squeezed gently. “I remember how, in the bar, when you’d smile, there’d be these great laugh lines around your eyes. When I was talking, I’d glance over at them, and they made me calm. You felt like an old school gentleman, the way I imagine DeNiro is. A gangster, yeah, but an honorable one, who didn’t want to hurt needlessly. Then I got to see you in daylight—hair slicked back, your tan, and I thought I’d go fuckin’ nuts. And you wore that white t-shirt, remember? I could see all your muscles. I had to sit there and be all cool and remember to keep my cover and all I wanted to do was jump you.”

Larry chuckled. “Now _that_ I would have loved to see. Joe would’ve had a stroke. Pink would have had a _hell_ of a lot to say, I know that. I don’t think Blue would’ve cared—probably would have used it as an excuse to go smoke. Brown would have said it reminded him of some movie or TV show none of us had heard of.”

“And you? What would you of done?”

“What do you think? Kissed you back.” He dropped his arm once more and gathered him close. “First time we met, you were in that great big leather jacket, but I could tell you were lean. And you were gesturing and all excited, every story you told, but you’d focus in real intense with those fuckin’ eyes of yours, and I wanted to drag you off into some corner and make you talk just to me.”

“That’s all? Just talk?”

“We’d only just met. As you said, I’m a gentleman.”

Freddy leans back, reaches up, and yanks Larry down to him for a kiss. Larry kisses back, stroking the younger man’s cheek, before gently pulling away.

“My dick is raw, hon. You want it to work at all the rest of the week, you gotta give it a breather.”

“Can’t I just want to kiss you?”

“You and I both know it won’t stop there.”

Freddy smiled against his mouth, kissed him again, then lay back down and settled in. “Al Pacino doesn’t do much for me.”

“Too short?”

“Nothing wrong with being short,” he snaps.

“Nose too big?”

“I’m gonna hit you.”

Larry grins and squeezes him gently. “Doesn’t do it for me either. I like blondes. Short, lean little blondes with great eyes and cute asses.”

“Stop it,” Freddy groans. “You’re gonna get me going again.”

Robert DeNiro is shooting someone, and Freddy flinches—Larry flips to the news. Two more days of snow. “I fuckin’ hate this shit,” Larry admits.

“What?”

“This fuckin’ snow. It’s like being back in Milwaukee. Days upon days of nothing. I always drank myself half-dead.”

“We could go away,” Freddy says. “Go down to Mexico for a week or two.”

It’s tempting—Mexico was their version of a honeymoon: fresh on the run, new to sex with each other, drinking, eating, and fucking their way through the country with their previous lives fading behind them.

His past lovers didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything, but Freddy wants to do it all—everything brings out his wide eyes and childish excitement. He loves taking him anywhere, even on the hiking trails near them, because the kid always stares out over them like they’re miracles, then loves on Larry like he built the mountains and forest himself.

Maybe a little trip down south would do them both good—though he legit needs his dick to heal first.

“Maybe tomorrow we look at travel sites—figure it out for real?” he asks. Freddy beams up at him, yanks him down for a kiss.

“Make me an offer I can’t refuse,” he says in a terrible Brando imitation.

Larry laughs, shakes his head, and kisses him back.


End file.
